


The Grey Area

by inurclosets



Series: goats in trees [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Companion Piece, Gen, Relationship Discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:03:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3874948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inurclosets/pseuds/inurclosets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A companion piece to Today's Oatmeal, focused more on Coles' behind-the-scene workings with relevance to happenings in the other story. Likely to be composed of smaller drabble like segments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into the Dust

**Author's Note:**

> intended to be read following chapter one of Today's Oatmeal, though entirely optional.

"It didn't work," Cole burst into Solas's office which always seemed well lit despite there being no direct windows.

The man was painting, sitting towards the roof as he detailed one mural. Slow strokes, intent to finish without wasting an ounce of paint, he addressed his guest without diverting his attention, "May I inquire as to what, Cole?"

"Dorian asked me to help," Cole was fretting, pacing, "Because he was too drunk to find the words. Bitter ale on his tongue, too many drinks but he mustn't ever let anyone know that. --He asked me to help him explain."

Solas set the brush down but only after rinsing it in a cup of water. He covered his paints so they wouldn't dry out before climbing down to sooth the spirit's nerves, "What was it he wanted you to explain exactly?"

"People aren't just strictly one or the other," Cole whined, "Complex, changing, intertwining--Every experience is unique, every person's body and soul. How can that be separated into just two categories?"

Solas gave him a genuine look of surprise, "It is said that the ancient elves had many genders, hundreds, not classified as humans classify them today."

"Yes, but you still only like one," Cole pointed out, "A very specific design with very specific features! One gender of hundreds."

"That is not necessarily true. They may present themselves to me one way and I may come to find those features attractive whether they identify full with one gender or not."

"The grey area!" Cole tried to grasp it with his hands, "That was what I was supposed to explain! …But when I tried I just pulled at the hurt, tugged it loose and raw. I made things worse."

A hand placed on the spirit's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. Cole moved forward to hug Solas, a shiver and shake. He always felt welcomed by the other man, never shunned or cast away. This feeling was confirmed when Solas returned the intimacy with a reassuring hug, "Perhaps it was a thread that needed to be pulled, the first piece to untangling a knot."

He rubbed the large shoulders of the boyish spirit, letting the embrace fade as Cole pulled away, "But what if he doesn't heal?"

"Give it time, Cole. You can find the hurt and what heals it, perhaps its best you focus on the later for now."

"What… heals the hurt?" He questioned, searching for the answer as they stood stilled in the silence. The crows quieter than they often were.

"…A soft smile, with gentle eyes and a warm laugh. He likes the way he laughs, it sounds like summers with Mia, running through the village, dirt kicking into dust. His eyes catch the light, it's hard to tell what color they are this way, but he likes that."

"Good," Solas affirmed with a small smile, "See? It is being healed already."

Cole nodded slowly, "There's still much more hurt but… It is a start."

"Go to where you are needed most, Cole, and if there is none, you are free to stay here and watch me paint."

"I like watching you paint," Cole commented with a small smile, "…But I have to find a duck. A wooden duck, four wheels. I will be back. Thank you Solas."

"Anytime, Cole."

 


	2. Rolling Across the Water

Cole had passed by one - two - three… five times before Varric stopped him.

"Alright kid, are you gonna tell me what you're up to or are you trying to wind me up by twisting my curiosities?" He asked, grabbing Cole by his sleeve as he was just about to pass by again.

Cole stilled and turned to the dwarf, feeling a rush and panic for not being able to locate what he was after, "I though I might be able to find it in the smithery first but they didn't have it. Told me to visit the underworks instead." He worked hand over hand, applying pressure to keep him on track of his thoughts, "They didn't have it either so I checked with the merchants. They thought Mother Giselle might know, but she didn't… I almost asked _him_ but that would ruin the surprise, so I went to Leliana instead, but she was't there."

"And this time you're going..?" Varric inquired lightly.

"Not sure. Stables maybe," Cole offered.

Varric laughed, "What is it you're looking for exactly? Maybe I can help."

"A wooden duck," He explained, "But with wheels."

"That's… Not a very common toy in Fereldan or Orleis," Varric gave Cole a sympathetic smile, "If you were looking for a Mabari, then it'd be no problem. Even a Mabari on wheels wouldn't be an issue, but a duck… Not exactly the trophy animal in these parts."

"It would mean the most though," Cole wasn't willing to give it up. He couldn't, not when it would be a warm reminder of a better time, "I should apologize."

"For what? You're trying to help, right?" Varric offered a smile, "Come on, let's go to the stables. I have an idea."

 

* * *

 

 

"You want me to make what?" Blackwall spoke with the most guarded tone Varric could ever recall hearing from the other man.

"Just hear me out," Varric held out his hands, "If you want compensation, I'd be happy to pay you just… Do this for the kid alright? He won't tell me who it's for and it's probably best that way. Take him up on the offer and you get a way to keep busy and spread a little joy around. That's a pretty noble cause and you've got the skills and time to do it."

Blackwall looked from the dwarf to the spirit, "Fine, so long as this one doesn't ask me why he can't grow facial hair again."

"It's long and silky," Cole commented quietly, "Warm for winters, a blanket for the face."

"Right," Blackwall sighed, picking up a fresh block of wood and setting it on his work table, "Maker, I can't even recall the last time I saw a duck."

"I'd draw one for you, but I'm afraid my skills are more literary than artistic," Varric offered.

Cole picked up a piece of charcoal and a scrap piece of paper, he sketched quietly, vividly recalling different angles before standing up and handing the paper off, "Like this. It should look like this. Wings folded in, rolling across the water."

"This has wheels," Blackwall pointed out.

"Wheels for it to roll," Cole agreed.

He looked to Varric and back to Cole, "I'm afraid that would require more time and resources than I have. It's not exactly easy to get a perfect cylinder with the simplest of carving tools. I'd have to shave it down and fix the wheels on afterwards. That could easily take a couple months between everything."

Cole was rubbing his hands again, weighing the options he could make, "Sooner would be best…. It doesn't have to be exact. There doesn't have to be any wheels."

"I can try to having it done before I leave then," Blackwall gave a nod, "You're coming along with us on that trip, assuming that I heard correctly."

"Yeah," Varric sighed, "The Inquisitor said he found some red lyrium, amongst other things and figured I should be around for it."

Blackwall gave another nod, picking up the paper to look the drawings over, "Come around before then, Cole. If I don't see you before I go, I'll leave whatever I've finished here for you. You can decide if its up to standard. If it's still here when I get back, I'll assume it still needs some retouching."

Varric gave a grin, "You really are a hero. What do you say, kid?"

"Thank you," Cole lowered his head, lingering in it a moment before deciding he was best needed elsewhere. Leaving Blackwall to his work.


	3. All in 'The'

The tavern was quieter than usual, not as many voices, not as much pain. Cole closed his eyes to pick up on it all but tonight there was less. The Herald's Rest was at rest.

"I'm not saying its bad thing, I just think you should take your time with him," Krem's tone was aggressive but he wasn't angered. Worried, not angry. He was concerned The Iron Bull would hurt or be hurt. The two mixed like a good drink, warming the chest. It's nice seeing them together but he worries about the sadness behind those colorless eyes. He's genuine in his intrigue, happy to learn and honest when at fault. Stubborn but he'd have to be to put up with The Iron Bull. A good match, but Krem's still concerned, "He's not as hardy as you are."

"Don't you think that's something for him to decide?" The Iron Bull tossed back, defensive. He doesn't like to be wrong, lives depend and have depended upon him. This is more personal, a lust that lingers towards a longing to be closer, more familiar. He needs someone to call his heart because without that he fears he'll lose himself. Too much of 'The' and not enough of the rest.

"Some people don't know what to decide, and if I can tell one noble prick from the next, my guess is he isn't really the most experienced with everything you're throwing at him."

"What? You think he wants me to serenade him with flowers and some shit?"

Krem laughs, an image he would pay to see, "Not what I meant, Chief."

"Then you should say it how you meant."

Urges and instinct bubble up sometimes, like a geyser waiting for enough pressure to build. It's controlled, but he fears it will get out of control and the pressure will be too much. With vents, it's easier to control where and when. Trevelyan could have helped, but Trevelyan made it clear that it was never meant to be more than a release. He had moved on and so had 'The".

"You're as blunt as that weapon you throw around, Chief," Krem explained, "All I'm saying is maybe you should take him aside and _ask_ whether he's comfortable with it."

' _The_ ' grumbles.

"Look, whatever fills your quill is fine, just make sure the ink works before you start writing a novel, alright? No one wants to read a whole book of chicken scratch."

Krem's words make him question what he had assured himself of before. He's not sure he can tame 'The' but he hopes Dorian is willing to try.

 


	4. A Similar Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: drug use, self harm and suicide mentions

"The Iron Bull," Cole greeted him early, earlier than anyone normally would. It was still dark and he slept like shit. A greeting like that could mean one of two things, either Cole was trying to help or he had some grim news.

He sat up in the bed, naked beneath the blanket though that wasn't a concern nor at the forefront of Bull's mind, "What's the matter?"

"I told him - but I shouldn't have. He was so _angry,_  not because of that," Cole spoke in circles, "He thinks he'll become like them, that the call will become too much - too hard to resist any longer. He fears that and _that_ makes him angry. He wants to kill it, thinks about killing himself instead, running the needle in his skin and making it hurt less, makes him strong enough to face anything but he doesn't want to become that." Cole kept on, the frustration of the person he described tearing through the spirits composure, no longer a messenger but a harborer of the emotions of this person, "If he does - he'll be no better than a demon."

"Calm down, Cole," Bull kept calm, tying the blanket around his waist and got to his feet, "What you're telling me, it's about the Commander, right?"

Cole gave a nod, "He doesn't want anyone to know, but you noticed. Small tremors in his hands, he places it on the hilt of his sword to stabilize the feeling. He gets distracted, surprised easily. Side effects, though they're only just starting. The leader of the pride. You watched from a distance. He can't let anyone know but he's screaming inside. I _tried_ to help - tried. He doesn't like spirits much."

Bull frowned, rubbing his chin, "So… You want me to help instead?"

Cole gave a nod.

"What makes you think I'll be able to?"

"Similar hurt," Cole spoke quickly, "Demons and blood magic, trying to right so many wrongs - internal and not. Broke the limb, hoping it would grow stronger but it just aches more. Still not enough. He tries to ignore it, avoid it but it boils, so close to spilling over while left inside a heated oven."

"And there's not someone else who'd be more suited to helping him with this?"

"The Inquisitor knows, but he fears it would be too much weight. Can't burden him more. Cassandra is the same - she knows but she doesn't see. Not underneath at least. She keeps a distance so she isn't biased when it comes to judging him," Cole played with the hem of his shirt, "Josephine wouldn't understand and Leliana scares him. Afraid she would use it to bend and break him even though he knows she needs him at his best.  There's Dorian but… Dorian is a mage. He's hurt too many mages already, he can't risk hurting him too."

Bull gave a grunt, "Fine, I get it. The Commander needs someone he can knock his skull against and get all those _feelings_ out of the way. ...This isn't something he needs right this second, is it?"

Cole seemed to register that Bull was dressed, or undressed rather, for bed though morning seemed quick in its approach. "Oh-- No, not right now. He should be alright for a little while now. He might need you when the sun comes up. Right now he's.... Doing paper work. Occupied, not out of mind, but almost."

"Alright, you gonna let me sleep for a bit then?"

"Right, yes. Good night, The Iron Bull," Cole dipped his head and left through the door that lead to the Herald's Rest. Bull gave a groan and dropped back on the bed. It was going to be a long day.


	5. Sanded to Feel

Cole picks up the duck after the Inquisitor has left. After Varric, Blackwall and Vivienne have left and looks it over. The grooves are made with a firm hand, detail's etched to give it more definition, sanded to feel smooth to the touch. It wasn't perfect, there weren't any wheels but it was close enough to what Cole felt lingering in Dorian's memory that it would absolutely serve as a pleasant reminder.

He removed it from the work bench, cradling it against his chest as he walked quickly towards the garden.

_A tumble down the stairs, he watched as larger hands picked up the broken pieces. It made him want to cry more than the pain felt from the fall itself, ashamed that he had let it break. A stern voice lecturing him in his head but he was met with concern and console instead._

_'Dorian, did you do this?'_

_He choked back on words he couldn't find a voice for and gave a nod._

_Father did not look as though he was about to scold him, instead he merely put it back together with magic and handed it back, 'Be more careful from now on.'_

_'Of course, Father.'_

Cole set the wooden duck on the centre of the bed, a good spot, the blankets made it look like waves.

He turned and took his leave, more people to attend, more hurt to help heal.


	6. Mixing Paint

He says it because he knows. Their words for him were never kind, not even his own. 'The' knows this. He knows so he tries to relieve it. Anything to take the burden of his shoulders. Anything to make him a little less sad, less of a target.

Their words are as poisonous as his tongue, but he only ever acted in defence. Their venom came in whispers behind his back. They knew he could hear but they didn't stop.

They whispers traveled.

Cullen ignored them because he could tell he was a good man, one with righteous intent. They'd never think to badmouth their commander.

...But he makes it easy. Different scent, different clothes, different tongue. He's a mage but he's not like the other mages.

He doesn't  _belong_.

And he knows it. Tries to wear it like armour.

The Iron Bull finds it attractive. There is strength to be found in that.

So he'll make it easier on him, he'll lighten that load because  _they_  will never speak ill of someone who could break their neck with bare hands.

He is a monster, or knows that's how other see him, so he will be the monster - a dragon protecting his treasure from harm - so they won't see him as one.

Dorian is safer this way, even if he knows he isn't happy.

It's something and for now, it works.

* * *

The rain is hard, heavy. It tears at the sky.

Cole sits in Solas's room to watch him work, another mural started though the events have yet to unfold.

"Do you always start before it comes to pass?" Cole asks and Solas welcomes the conversation.

"Not always, but I have a feeling about this one. Should the result differ from what I have, then I will start over. It's not so difficult to strip a wall of its paint if you know how, though that is knowledge I would prefer not to share."

"So the pictures can remain present forever. History carried forward."

"That is correct."

"…His hands are shaking and he's not sure that they'll ever stop.  _Why did he do that? Why did he kiss him back?_ " Cole's brows furrowed, "He doesn't think he's allowed to love anyone after what he did. I'm not allowed to talk to him, but he's so loud."

"Who is?" Solas put the tool he had been using to line the wall down.

"I'm not allowed to say," Cole lowered his head and brought his arms around his knees.

"Have you tried to work with the cooperation of someone else?" Solas considered, "Since you are no longer as you were, people cannot forget you."

"I did, I spoke with The Iron Bull but it's all mixing, spilling like paint across tiled floors. It seeps into the cracks and they swirl together. It's not clear what kind of picture they will make."

"Is there hurt in what is happening now?"

"Hurt," Cole nodded, "And struggle. Old habits becoming fresh and words tangled on the tips of tongues. The Iron Bull is helping, but the colors are still spilling spreading. It's hard to make a pictures when there's  _so_  much."

"Perhaps you should speak with him again," Solas suggested, taking a seat beside Cole, "And if not, then perhaps provide them with tools to guide them. Even if you are remembered, that does not mean you cannot do as you have done before."

Cole shut his eyes, "Tools like brushes, or a fresh batch of cookies. Thank you Solas."

"You are welcome, as always, Cole."


	7. Taste of Home

Cole sat on the counter, the sun wasn't up and even if it was, it couldn't be seen. Sitting alone in the dark, he gave the first comers of the kitchen staff an awful fright as they entered to pick up their daily tasks.

That strange child apologized, offering his help to make up for scaring them.

He had a plan.

"It's raining, and some here like that, but not everyone. It's the snow they're used to, not the rain. Not rain like this. You make them breakfast but there needs to be more," He explained in a sort of ramble. Neither cook could really put together what he meant.

"You prepare breakfast for now, but after," He continued, "After you can help. Together we'll help."

So they cooked and he sat in the corner watching and mixing something on his own with flour and sugar. He didn't disrupt them once, even if he would, on other days, regularly find his way in to sneak things out. Today he sat and kept silent until they had completed their task for the morning.

It was then that he explained his plan with clarity.

"Cookies, but in batches. Enough for everyone to get a taste of home. I can help," Excitement lined his otherwise dreary features optimistically. He explained what techniques and recipes he needed their help to make, and the rest of their day was spent preparing cookies between the usual meals.

That gangly boy took to delivering the plates to people while they mixed and baked more. When they finished, rewards came with faces popping in to thank them throughout the day. They snacked on at least one cookie per batch themselves just to keep their energy up, voicing their pleasure with ones that matched their own personal tastes.

Cole never asked nor took any cookies for himself as he seemed to simply enjoy the task of delivering.

* * *

 

There's a knock at the door then nothing more.

"Who's there?" Sera calls out, not bothering to deprive herself from the book she's presently cutting up to check.

When her call heeds no response, she sets her supplies down, raises to her feet and moves about the crowded floor to push the door open, "Helloooo, I said who's there?"

But no one stood there and she knew darn well that she wasn't just hearing things. Eyes scanned the floor for anyone who could be held responsible for the prank knock but found none who were obviously trying to hide the deed.

Her nose curled to a familiar scent though inviting. She looked down to her right, a plate of cookies sitting on top the book she left there, a note with it.

She picked up the note: 'Compliments from the kitchen - half a dozen raisin cookies'.

"No way," She gaped at them before picking them up to taste.

Of all the things to remind her of Denerim on this dreary rainy day, she hadn't expected this.

 


	8. Beyond Their Limits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During What Pride Had Wrought.

There were people dying. Some slow, some fast. They were being run far beyond their limits the longer they were issued to stay and fight. If they'd jump through first, they could help a lot more people, they could make a difference.

But the majority was decided by _him_.

Respect the ruins, that was the choice _he_ made. They walked paths of puzzles, light brightening under feet though sometimes the panel would stick and read weight that wasn't there or not register any weight at all. Cole drew anxious as he waited off to the side, watching as the young Trevelyan tried to complete the puzzle on his own, time after time.

They were not moving fast enough.

So he tugged Solas's  sleeve, "Please."

It was all he had to say for the initiative to be taken, coming up at Trevelyan's side to explain the route he thought - no, _knew_ \- was the correct one.

Trevelyan tried once more on his own before allowing Solas to step lightly, delicately about the puzzle. They finally moved onto the next one. A group of three observed the puzzle to create a most effective solution so not to waste any more time. Cole saw the solutions through Solas, but he didn't have the confidence to carry them out himself. He couldn't be sure his step would affect each panel the same as Solas did.

They progressed, fast and suddenly faster, acquiring aid from ancient lives with ancient tongues and ancient stories. Cole could hear some of them, what terrible loses they had suffered and the conflicts they felt. He wished he could have healed their hurt too, but there was little time for that when there was active threat for more loss, more conflict and more sufferings.

Cole wished he could have stayed on the field. He could help more people that way by taking back the injured and staying off those who wished to harm.

He was here now though, and here was where he would try to help.


	9. Exhaustion Matched the Pain

"They hurt you," A pale boy with eyes hidden by the brim of his hat was crouched on top of the wall.

She gasped, hands already covering her mouth as she tried to keep he sobs silent. Her eyes were red, and a dampness covered her cheeks and chin but no more tears fell. Exhaustion had matched the pain.

The boy, Cole, she recalled his name being from the whispers around camp, climbed down from the wall to stand beside her. His eyes a pale blue, no longer disguised by the hat he wore. His blond unkept hair reminded her of her brother's, though that boy was several years younger still.

His face scrunched as if perplexed and pained, though she said nothing. A focus remained, he was listening. Listening to her silence and to her fears. The stories surrounding the boy were many and yet she could recall none. She could come to no conclusion on whether he could be considered friend or foe.

"No one came to help," His voice was sympathetic and as frightened as she felt.

Air felt fixed in her chest, barely passing her lips as she spoke, "Where you there?"

The boy shook his head, "But I can sense it - see it. I know what they've done, I know how they've hurt you. ...You did nothing to deserve that."

She felt on the verge of crying again, she had trying so hard to find a reason because if there was a reason, maybe then she could work on being a better person.

If there was nothing, then there was nothing she could change.

_What was to stop it from happening again?_

Tears pricked her eyes and stung her skin, slowly building up and cascading over and down her already salted cheeks.

"We'll speak to Leliana," The boy said, taking off his hat and placing it on her head. The shadow it cast was so large and it sat so low that anyone they passed would be unable to make out her face.

A frayed cotton wrapped hand held hers, guiding him through the dark.

"She can help," he said, "She will help you."

They walked many stairs, more than she was accustomed to trekking on any given day. Arriving at the top, she could hear the spymaster ushering out the others that had been present. Her voice beckoned the boy nearer.

"You are safe here," She offered sanctuary, "Whatever the issue, we will do what we can to ensure it is resolved."

The boy guided her, taking a seat before a small lettered desk. She removed the hat and looked between the two, frightened but reassured by the kindness held in their eyes. She would be safe here.

Without prompting she began to speak, elaborating on despair, hurt, and harm.


	10. A Change In Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (During Chapter 13: Pear Slices)

  
It was hard to see under the hat and Cole very much liked his hat, but on this occasion he held it tightly between two hands, fingers dipped in leather to expose something greater.

"Woah, what's with the new look, Kid?" Varric looked up from his letter with disbelief, "Almost didn't recognize you there for a second."

His hair was pushed back and gelled out of his face. Make up brightened his face, make his features more accentuated and lively. His appearance often wasn't very important, but allowing Dorian's hands to take on and craft a look for him was.  
"Dorian offered so I accepted," he stated astutely, "It makes things much brighter. It's a bit hard on the eyes. I miss things that I saw before and see things I missed before."

"A change in perspective then, huh?" Varric gave him a small smile, "Well, that never hurts unless it's somehow for the worse."

"It's not," Cole stated honestly, "You're writing to your editors again."

"Yeah, they changed Claudius to Cloudis. Minor character but I don't know what gave them the idea to do that," Varric sighed, shaking his head.

"Your letter… It's quite strongly worded."

Varric chuckled, "Yeah, I'm hoping it will get the point across."


	11. A Million Poetic Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goes with (Chapter 14: Flax Seed)

Tubes, beakers, and a traditional burner (the last he had to buy as he didn't require such for himself. He set them aside, wrapped them in cloths and cotton, decorating each like it was an assortment of presents all to be placed and carried within a box. Some pieces made the attempt to roll about and bounce against the others but it was packed tightly enough that he needn't fret about glass becoming shards.

"What's all this?" Sera asked as he held the gift out to her, "It's not my birthday, silly."

"I know, but it's a gift no less. A thank you, if you'd prefer. No returns accepted or required. I'm trying to travel lightly," Dorian punctuated, his words partial to the feelings he harboured.

Sera accepted the box, carrying it into her room to unwrap, "If this is expensive, I'm going to smack you."

"It's not. Barely cost me anything, mostly just scavenged it from places, people, and things," Dorian assured her, "Figured you'd get the best use of it."

Her fingers worked open the fabric, gingerly pulling ribbons and pushing back silks to see the items underneath, "You're going to make me cry, you git!"

"You're an alchemist, Sera. I figured if anyone was going to make grand use of it, it might as well be you."

She knew he got that right but like pinpricks, tears filled the wells in her eyes, "I'm going to miss you, regardless of what I might've been saying."

She shoved at him lightly, "You become some fancier noble, don't expect me to let you live it down."

"Quite the contrary, I expect you to level me," he joked, a warm genuine smile lifting his cheeks.

"Don't think you'll need any help with that," she said, a laugh slipping out as she moved to hug him. She promised herself she wouldn't cry, but she was crying, doing her best to disguise the sniffs with laughter and blame her tears on his perspiration. Dorian didn't object, he too knew the art of hiding ones more honest emotions.

 

* * *

 

"What's this?" Cole asked, accepting the item Dorian proposed to him.

"An hour glass," Dorian confessed, "There are grains of sand and when you turn it one way, they filter through for an exact hour. Every last grain."

"I mean, why?" Cole turned the object to watch the sand build and slowly drain.

Dorian paused a moment, as if he was almost unsure himself, "You're a spirit, I don't expect you understand the flow of time here the same as most and most of us don't even understand it fully. Think of it as a reminder, plus you can say a million poetic things about it if you try."

"Each grain is like a memory," Cole watched them carefully, "Slipping, stopping, slowing, and speeding up again. You have it and then you don't. Like this one."

"See? I knew you'd like it."

"Thank you, Dorian."


	12. Through Teeth and Tether

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vaaaaague very very vague trespasser spoilers. very cullen/bull, dorian/bull heavy.
> 
> after sitting on my thumbs in hopes that i'd finish up a small comic i wanted to make for this series, i've decided to post it now and do a oneshot follow up some time later on   
> so Enjoy what is effectively the conclusion of Cole's side story involvement for Today's Oatmeal!

The Iron Bull would invite Cullen to the Herald's Rest from time to time. He made fewer and fewer excuses the long Dorian had been away. They would lay in each others company regularly.

 

Slow breaths, longing sighs, they kept out of sight from the rest of the world.

The Iron Bull had hands that reminded him of leather armour, the way they gripped and held his form secure. Shielding him from the damage of the world both new and old.

Sometimes he cried, in pleasure, in pain, or with tears. The first time would sometimes mix and mingle, like seasoning to a soup. The tears always stood alone in moments of comfort and words.

 

"Tell me about it…"

"I watched so many of them die. So many of them change. I couldn't tell what was real anymore. I couldn't draw the line between what I was being shown and what was actually happening."

"And then what?"

"I killed them."

 

His voice was as heavy as his heart, a guilt gripped his throat.

He knew he was not a perfect person, he knew there were many things he still had left to undo and confront. Wallowing in it forever served no one, but The Iron Bull was patient in his teaching.

 

"I want to do something right," Cullen mumbled one evening while they were both warm, comfortable and euphoric, "He mentioned something once, I think I'll try to find it."

"Do you want my help?" Bull asked.

"…No," Cullen shook his head, "We'll work something else out. Something more suitable between us eventually."

Scarred lips met in a matter so genuine it caused swelling. Nameless, it faded to be  recognized and acknowledged another day.

  
  


"Hey Kid," Varric greeted Cole on the stairs within the Herald's Rest, "Seems like you've been spending more time here lately."

Cole nodded, "When the hurt gets too much, it's nice to come here. There's a warmth in the room above. Lovers embrace though neither is ready to say it's love just yet."

Varric glanced towards the room Cole was mentioning, "..Well, you ever hear the saying 'heat rises'?"

"What they experience isn't temperate," Cole gave Varric a concerned look, "Though it does often cause them to sweat."

"…Right," Varric smirked, "I think I'm a bit beyond writing fiction of this crew, unless it's the tale of our dear friend the Inquisitor."

Cole nodded, "There's red hair still on fire from the last one."

"Aveline," Grimly, Varric nodded, "She's going to give me reckoning if she ever finds out I've written more."

  
  


Cool air, cooler hearts. Cole sat on the walls of Skyhold overlooking the bridge and gate. The hurt connected two hearts, but it wasn't  a hurt Cole could mend, only patience.

The Iron Bull had known this too, so he too waited. Cole could see him biding such time with his Chargers. He made more time for them, let their joy feed his own though worry lingered frequent on the back of his mind. It wasn't for Cole to intrude.

He could only watch and listen to the many other voices idly as time passed.

He was waiting for one.

One voice, distant but growing louder. It was longing, more than hurt, though there was hurt attached to longing. Knots left tangled, but ready to come undone under a caring hand. Deftly, some had been unworked already. Some hurt released through caring words and comforting thoughts.

Cole thought about greeting him, but watched instead as the Iron Bull helped his off his horse and gave him a path free of interruption.

It carried whispers.

And he carried whispers with him.

Like letters scattered about the path he travelled to return.

 

Cole was still learning how feelings felt in his own form, though anger and sadness had been most distinct in the way they seared from the inside.

Watching Dorian dismount and take a stride, it encouraged empowerment. Cole felt empowered by it. There was no hesitation in the way Dorian held The Iron Bull's face, or in the way he kissed him in view of the entire yard. There was pride and Cole felt proud.

 

The pride was met with words of love, words of support.

"I missed you."

"I've missed you too."

"We'll have to catch up later."

"Believe me, I'll be hunting you down if we don't."

Then another kiss to convey all other words not yet shared.

His confidence was radiant, even in the face of so much more.

 

.

..

…

  
  


"He'll be leaving again," Cole rubbed his hands, "Two heads of a snake feast on his  heels. Things were better between them, but not enough. He's happier now."

The Inquisitor paused in passing, "Who's leaving? Dorian?"

"They've made a home together but want to make a better one. One on the road, one for recovery. They promise to be connected forever through teeth and tether. A pendant sings their song, it reminds him to be patient."

"Well, so long as they're happy then," Trevelyan smiled.

Cole smiled to, "It was trying to have tried this, but they've survived and will survive more still. As precious is the past, the future is an unknown that excites them. They are happy, but may be happier still. It's up to grains of sand."


End file.
